There was no one left to fight but Danzo Shimura.
The afternoon streets of Konoha bustled with villagers finishing their market rounds, yet a strange tension lingered in the air. Members of the Military Police Force marched a belligerent drunk through the crowd, their Uchiha crests gleaming in the late sunlight. Instead of cheering, the villagers turned away with thinly veiled distaste—at the drunk, yes, but also at the police themselves.
Hidden in a shaded corner, Orochimaru watched every face carefully. That flicker of suspicion, that quick curl of the lip—he recognized the look. So this is how it begins, he thought. A single seed of resentment planted today could grow into a forest of hatred tomorrow.
Years later, the Uchiha would be forced into open rebellion. But that coup had not been born from a single insult or a few drunken incidents. It was the slow poison of distrust and humiliation, dripping for generations.
Konoha had been founded by the Senju and the Uchiha together. Yet, after decades of "peace," only the Senju bloodline had truly flourished in the halls of power. The Uchiha, despite their prestige and their unmatched Sharingan, held no high positions in the government. Their only official authority lay in the Police Force—a post that kept them busy policing other clans rather than shaping the village's future.
Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. This is why they rebelled. Not for a single grievance, but for years of quiet suffocation.
---
The Hokage's Office
"Third Hokage, you're finally back!"
Utatane Koharu's sharp voice cut across the room as the office door creaked open. Beside her, Homura Mitokado folded his arms, wearing his usual look of weary irritation.
"Leaving all the paperwork to us is far too much," Homura complained.
The young man who entered was tall, with dark hair pulled neatly back. At first glance he appeared to be in his prime, but as he crossed the threshold, his transformation shimmered and dissolved. Smoke drifted away to reveal Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, smiling with the ease of a man still proud of his own cleverness.
"Hahaha! I lead by example," Hiruzen said warmly. "As the teacher of Orochimaru, Jiraiya, and Tsunade, I had to personally supervise their first C-rank mission. Would you expect any less?"
Koharu shook her head, though a faint smile betrayed her amusement. Hiruzen scanned the desk, pleased to see only a modest stack of reports awaiting his attention.
Before he could sit, the door opened again. A man stepped through—his right eye and the side of his head wrapped in fresh bandages.
Danzo Shimura.
Rumors claimed he'd been gravely wounded on a mission, but few knew the truth.
"Danzo," Hiruzen greeted him, his voice suddenly more formal. "As head of the Shimura clan, you must keep your people in line."
Danzo blinked, clearly taken aback. He had come intending to scold Hiruzen for leaving the village, not to be scolded himself.
"When my students and I returned," Hiruzen continued, "we found members of the Military Police Force escorting a drunken member of your clan out of the marketplace for disorderly conduct."
Danzo's brow furrowed. "What does that have to do with me?"
"As Assistant Hokage, you must set an example," Hiruzen said evenly. His eyes held a quiet authority that left no room for argument.
Danzo's jaw tightened. He had expected to berate his old comrade for reckless absence, but instead found himself on the defensive over a mere drunkard. Pride warred with practicality, and after a tense pause he gave a curt nod. "I understand."
Koharu raised an eyebrow. "Third Hokage, aren't you making a mountain out of a molehill?"
"I disagree," Hiruzen replied. "Our new generation must not see the Assistant Hokage's clan abusing their status. A single small incident can tarnish the village's trust."
Danzo said nothing, though his dark expression spoke volumes. Hiruzen suppressed a sigh. Compared to the seasoned schemer he would one day become, this younger Danzo still retained a sliver of shame.
---
Meanwhile…
Far from the Hokage's office, Orochimaru sneezed suddenly, rubbing his pale arm. A strange chill crawled over his skin, as if someone were speaking ill of him.
"Orochimaru, are you okay?" Tsunade asked, tilting her head.
"I'm fine," he murmured, then glanced at her with suspicion. "Your home is this way, isn't it?"
Tsunade's lips curved into a mischievous smile. Orochimaru felt a familiar dread settle in his stomach.
"Hehe!" she said, catching his sleeve before he could retreat. "Come with me and try your luck. There's a casino not far from here."
Orochimaru's heart sank. "Ah—suddenly I remembered something important. I can't join you."
He tried for a polite smile, but Tsunade tightened her grip. Her strength left no room for escape. Where is Jiraiya when I need him? Orochimaru thought desperately, scanning the crowd for a flash of white hair. No sign of him. Surely he's not off chasing old women again…
"Come on," Tsunade said, dragging him forward. "We just got back to the village. What could possibly be more important?"
Resigned, Orochimaru allowed himself to be pulled along, silently cursing every gambling hall in the Fire Country. Casinos shouldn't even exist. Hashirama Senju, this is your fault.
---
A Losing Bet
Night fell quickly, lanterns flickering to life along Konoha's streets. Hours later, Tsunade stomped out of the casino, her temper barely contained. She hadn't lost—astonishingly, she had won—but every coin of her winnings came from the money Orochimaru had provided.
"I swear my terrible luck is your fault," she snapped, glaring at him. "You must have stolen my good fortune!"
Orochimaru arched a brow. "Your gambling luck has always been awful. If I'd stolen it, I'd be unlucky too."
Tsunade's cheeks flushed scarlet. "What did you say?"
"It's late," he said smoothly. "At least you didn't lose money tonight."
She fidgeted, clearly torn between pride and irritation. "Fine. I'm going home."
Without another word, she strode off into the darkness. Orochimaru watched her disappear, then turned back toward his own quiet quarters, his mind already churning with plans.
---
Training Ground
The next morning, the team gathered at the training field where their sensei waited, a single kunai spinning idly between his fingers.
"Listen," Hiruzen said, his voice calm but commanding. "Today I want to test your shuriken accuracy. Attack me as the target and show how far you've come."
"Orochimaru, you first."
The boy stepped forward, eyes sharp, and flicked his wrist in a graceful arc. A single shuriken gleamed—then multiplied into dozens.
"Shuriken Shadow Clone Technique!" Hiruzen recognized the seals instantly, deflecting each blade with effortless precision.
"Well done," he praised. "To master it after only one attempt is remarkable."
"My turn!" Jiraiya bounded forward, only to realize too late that he didn't know the technique. He flung a handful of shuriken anyway. "Ultimate… Full-Spread Throwing Style!"
The weapons scattered in every direction, more chaotic than deadly. Tsunade and Hiruzen stared in disbelief. Orochimaru turned away, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
"That's not even ninjutsu!" Tsunade barked, punching Jiraiya squarely on the head.
He rubbed the bump sheepishly while Orochimaru smirked.
---
Private Notes
That night, Orochimaru sat at his desk, a candle casting long shadows across his notes. His pen twirled idly as he wrote about genjutsu—the art of bending an enemy's senses and will with chakra.
Though people spoke of manipulating all five senses, most genjutsu targeted sight and sound. Only rare techniques, such as Izanami, worked through touch. Scents or tastes that induced illusions were more likely potent drugs than true genjutsu.
Genjutsu is the greatest threat to me, he wrote, recalling reports of the Sound Clan from the Land of Rice Fields, famed for their deadly sound-based illusions. Access to such classified information should have been impossible for a genin, but Hiruzen, recognizing his curiosity, had quietly approved his research.
At first, Orochimaru had harbored doubts about his mentor. He remembered, almost as if from another life, the tragic childhood of Naruto Uzumaki, the son of Minato Namikaze and Kushina Uzumaki. After their deaths, the boy had lived in misery, shunned by villagers who knew too much.
Why, Orochimaru wondered, did everyone know the boy was the Nine-Tails' jinchūriki? If Kumogakure had wished to steal the Nine-Tails, such open knowledge would have made their task easier. Even under ANBU protection, Konoha could not have risked full war at that time.
It was an unforgivable lapse of judgment—one that laid heavy on Hiruzen's reign. Perhaps many of these choices had been out of the Hokage's hands, but to Orochimaru, the decision to let the village vent its fear and hatred on a newborn child was inexcusable.
The candle burned lower as Orochimaru closed his notebook. Power, he thought, is the only true defense—power so absolute that no secret, no policy, no careless whisper can threaten what is mine.
Outside, Konoha slept beneath the gentle light of the moon, unaware of the ambitions taking root in the mind of one of its most gifted sons.